


A Song of Flare and Ultima

by stand_by_me



Category: Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy V, Final Fantasy VI, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VIII, Final Fantasy X, Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XV, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Multi, blitzball is mysteriously relevant, but should make sense without any asoiaf knowledge, creative liberties with familial relationships, fear the Feymarch, maybe Squall's a lion, maybe watch out for Kefka, paladin redemption arcs are a good time, so many summoners, where are the l'Cie? no one knows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:23:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stand_by_me/pseuds/stand_by_me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As summer ends, Regis Stark is asked to replace the former Hand of the King. His family separates under tragic circumstances, having no idea of what is to come...</p>
<p>In the heart of Westeros, the great families vie for the Crystal Throne, and their very identities are put into question as war breaks out. Across the ocean, the youngest Targaryen prepares to join the fray and claim her birthright in revenge for the destruction of her family. And near the Wall, rumors are spreading. Rumors of a threat far greater than winter, war, or even dragons...the Heartless are coming, and it will take a power greater than any single person possesses in order to stop them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song of Flare and Ultima

“The sun is low in the sky, Biggs,” one of the black-clad men said, a cowardly whine evident in his voice.  “We should head back.”

“Summer has not yet breathed its last,” Biggs said, brushing the snow off his cloak.  “It is more important that we complete our mission, Wedge.”

“But—”

“The night is dark and full of terrors?  An old wives’ tale…those ‘terrors’ are no more than legend.”

A sudden gust of wind came through and Wedge shivered at the chill, reprimanding himself for acting so weak.  _If winter is truly coming, it’ll only get colder from here on out._ “Legends exist for a reason, sir.”

“Yes, to scare children into staying indoors and keeping quiet,” Biggs said.  “Are you a child?”

“No, sir.”

“Then we’ll do our jobs.  It’s not so cold yet as to be dangerous.”

Without further discussion, Biggs set off into the old forest.  Wedge followed, lamenting the way he could feel every rock and pine bough through the soles of his boots.  “ _The Wall is home to an venerable order,” they said.  “The work is hard but you’ll be well cared for,” they said.  Lies, all of them.  We protect all the southron lords and smallfolk but they send us nothing in return…I suppose most of us being criminals might have something to do with that._

Wedge was so lost in his irritated thoughts that he walked straight into a tree.  Biggs snapped his head around and glared.  “Pay attention,” he said.  “Just because the cold isn’t dangerous yet doesn’t mean we’re walking through a meadow.  There are beasts afoot, not to mention the trouble we might be in if these wildlings are still alive.”

“Sir, I have a question,” Wedge said.

“Yes?”

“Why are we checking up on wiped-out villages, anyway?”

“Tradition, mostly.  Old legends,” Biggs admitted with a sigh.  “But there is some use to it.  If we can keep track of the wildling population, we’ll be better equipped to deal with them if they ever try to get past the Wall.  Theoretically.”

“Theoretically?”  _There can’t possibly be more than we can handle…what would even sustain the wildlings in a winter this far north?_

“Look around the castle when we get back, son.  Our numbers are low, our resources nearly depleted,” Biggs said.  “If enough of those wildlings come through…we’ll be dead.  Or worse.”

Wedge could tell Biggs was getting annoyed with his incessant questions, but he had a better chance of getting an answer from him out here than from anyone back at Castle Black.  “Or worse, sir?”

“Old legends again.  Now hush.  Pay attention to your surroundings…the village should be close now.”

That effectively ended the conversation, and Wedge threw his mind into the scouting to help distract from the ache in his feet.  The trees here were old, with thick white trunks and winding, tangled branches.  Old enough to have still been around when the children of the crystals lived here.  _Another old wives’ tale.  The l’Cie don’t exist anymore, and they probably never did.  Just like the rest…_

The air was still and lifeless, and Wedge strongly believed that they weren’t going to find any wildlings alive _or_ dead, but he wasn’t about to say so.  _I need to stay focused and helpful if I want to stay out of the kitchens._

It took longer to find the village than Wedge had hoped.  He felt fear rise up in his chest as darkness fell over the forest and the temperature dropped even lower.  _And camp is still a few hours’ walk away…we’re in for a long night._

“You doin’ okay, Wedge?” Biggs asked ahead of him.

“Yes, sir,” he answered, ignoring the pressure in his chest.  _Fear is good.  It means I might have a fighting chance if we do come across wildings who are still alive._

“Good, ‘cause there they are,” Biggs said ahead of them.  “All dead…have any idea what killed them, Wedge?”

Wedge laughed despite himself.  _Father always said laughing in the face of fear was an easy way to act brave._ “The cold, of course.  Sir,” he said.  “And if not that, then perhaps they starved…if not now, then they would have once winter fell.”

“Awfully confident for a man who has seen only one winter, and one in the riverlands at that,” Biggs said darkly.  “The wildlings are far more resilient than we are…and they don’t live in the open during winter, anyway.”

Another strong gust of wind blew Wedge’s hood off as if to agree.  “Where do they go, then?”

Biggs shrugged.  “That’s a secret they take to their graves,” he said.  “No man of the Night’s Watch has ever gotten close enough with a wildling to know.  Presumably, some oasis far beyond where we can travel…or perhaps they just live in caves.”

Something in the air set him on edge, and he bristled.  “Sir, I think we should do what we came to do.  Night has fallen.”

To his relief, his commanding officer seemed to agree.  “Count the bodies while I check them for valuables.  Then we’ll make haste.”

“You want to steal from the dead?” Wedge asked.  “Is that allowed?”  _I’ve been here long enough to know how little honor the Night’s Watch actually has, but…this is different._

“No, but half our supplies come from them nonetheless,” Biggs admitted.  “Come on, I want to return before Jessie eats all the rations.”

Wedge looked around the village—it was more of a campsite, to be honest.  There were only about a dozen bodies, all white with frost.  _If it weren’t for the cold, they could all be sleeping._

He made his way around the clearing with his back to Biggs, counting on his fingers.  _One, two, three, four, five, six, seven…_

There was a sudden silence from behind him, followed by a brief rustling.  “Wedge,” Biggs said, voice uncharacteristically shaky.  “Run.  There’s a—”

Wedge felt his heart jump to his throat as a gurgling scream filled the air.  He tried to get his feet to move, to run back to camp to warn the others that _something was here_ , but he couldn’t manage it.  Instead, he turned around to see the most terrifying thing he had had ever laid eyes on, and probably ever would.

One of the wildlings, one of the _dead_ , was standing upright with a knife thrust straight through Biggs’ neck.  Its body changed color, from frosty white to grey to a black darker than night, the color bleeding into the forest like smoke.  Wedge felt the truth of what it was bone-deep, but he refused to believe it until it turned around.

Its eyes glowed gold in sharp contrast to its body, and there was a gaping hole in its chest where its heart was missing.  Wedge’s blood ran cold as the Heartless glided to him, and it ran colder still when the knife cut through his heart.

 

\---------------------------------

 

The morning was colder than any Rydia Stark had experienced in her eight years, but it didn’t deter her from climbing to her favorite perch.

She set her cloak down on the stone to keep the cold from seeping into her skirts and sat down on top of it, dangling her feet over the edge and relishing the distance between her and the ground.

The sun was just starting to rise, painting the sky crimson and gold.  Morning arrived later and later as the years-long summer drew to a close, and Rydia had finally managed to wake up early enough to see it only a few days ago.  The sky brightened as the sun lit up Insomnia’s outer walls.  _It’s more beautiful every time I see it._

A gloved hand fell upon her shoulder, and Rydia tensed up.  “Worth the wait?” a familiar voice asked, and she relaxed.  _Not Mother._

“Don’t scare me like that, Cloud,” she said, looking up at him.

“And you shouldn’t scare Lady Gillian like that,” her favorite brother said, sitting down next to her.  “She does mean the best for you…that’s how mothers are, you know.”

_Funny how you can see that, not having one._ “But this is the _only_ thing I have to myself,” Rydia whined.  “You and Noct play with swords, Rinoa gets all the prettiest dresses, Tifa is _allowed_ to abandon ‘a lady’s pursuits’ as Mother calls them, and Bartz is the youngest.”

Cloud laughed.  “First of all, Noct and I aren’t playing, we’re training,” he said.  “Rinoa gets the prettiest dresses because she’s old enough to marry.  _No one_ can get Tifa to do anything she doesn’t want to do—least of all your mother.  And Bartz is five.”

Rydia pouted.  “I wish I could fly,” she said.  “Then Mother wouldn’t have to worry about me falling and getting hurt.”

“Well, maybe you can’t fly,” Cloud said, “but you can ride today, if you want to.”

She furrowed her brows.  “But I’m still too small to fit in the saddle.”

“Not if we share,” he said, and Rydia smiled for the first time that day.

“You really mean it?” she asked, leaning over to give him a tight hug.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Cloud laughed again and lifted her to her feet.  “You have to be quiet, though,” he said.  “Father’s taking some of the men out to check the traps.  Can you act man enough?”

“I’m big and tough and moody!” she said, tugging back her dark locks before falling into a fit of giggles.

“Not quite there yet,” Cloud said with a smile, “but I think that’ll pass.”

He took her by the hand and led her back inside, being careful to avoid the halls that the servants usually walked through.  “I’ll wake Noct if you wake Tifa,” he whispered.

“Does Tifa _have_ to come?” Rydia asked.

“Yes,” Cloud said.  “Then when your mother finds out, maybe she’ll unleash her wrath on her instead of you.”

Rydia nodded in agreement.  _Mother does seem to dislike her love of riding._

She left her brother and darted through Insomnia’s wide halls until she came to Tifa’s quarters, shoving the door open and tumbling inside.  “Morning, Tifa!”

Her fourteen-year-old sister pulled the covers over her head.  “Out,” Tifa groaned.

“Get your riding slacks on, we’re going out!” Rydia said, making an effort to sound as chipper as possible.

“Is the sun even up yet?” Tifa asked, her words muffled by the blankets.  “I feel like I haven’t slept at all…”

“Yes, I just watched it!” Rydia said, pulling the covers off her sister to her general annoyance.  “Up!  Cloud’s getting Noct and then we’re off!”

“Well, I hope he has a little more…reservation than you do,” she said, and Rydia wasn’t sure what she meant by that.

 

\---------------------------------

 

Prompto bit his lip in concentration as he traced the lines of Noct’s jaw, keeping the ink light on the parchment.  “Hold still or I’ll mess up.”

“Can we do this later?” Noctis asked with a yawn, leaning back in his chair.  “I’m tired…”

“I like you when you’re tired,” Prompto said.  “Now look back towards the window, I’m trying to use the sunrise in the lighting.”

Noct sighed but obeyed, letting the morning sunlight frame his face.  _He’ll like it when it’s done.  Probably._

The minutes passed, and the sketch in Prompto’s hands started to look more like the man before him, beautiful and powerful.  _Just one more thing._

Prompto made his way over to Noct and stood in front of him, looking down at his mouth.  “I can’t get the shading on your lips right,” he said softly, running his thumb along them.  “I think I need to—”

He was interrupted when Noct grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss, which may or may not have been exactly what Prompto wanted.  He gripped his lover’s shoulders and hummed in appreciation as Noct kissed him in all the right spots, showing him just how well they’d grown to know each other over the years.

That is, until they heard the unmistakable sound of Noct’s door opening.  _That can’t be any of the servants…they always knock._

“Could you _be_ any less discreet?” a voice asked moments later, and Prompto laughed as he turned around, still holding on to Noct’s shoulders.

“Yes, Strife, we actually could,” he said, smirking at the annoyed look on Cloud’s face.  “I could march right up to your lord father and announce that I’m fucking his oldest son—oldest legitimate son, anyway.”

Noct brushed him aside and stood up, embarrassed.  “What’s going on, Cloud?”  _He acts like we should be ashamed of our relationship.  Being the heir to any title shouldn’t prevent people from loving who they choose…oh well.  It’s not like I can understand exactly what he’s feeling._

“Father wanted us to go check the traps with him,” Cloud said, eyeing Prompto with some distaste.  “You’re obviously welcome to come, Greyjoy.  But you should get dressed in your own quarters.”

Prompto grinned and stretched his arms behind his head.  “It’s not like the servants suspect anything.  They think I’m out whoring every night, probably.”

“Enough of this,” Noct said, obviously done discussing his relationship with his half-brother.  “Who else is coming?”

“Father didn’t say which of the men he’s bringing, but I invited Tifa and Rydia,” Cloud said, looking towards the window.  “They’ll be ready soon.”

“Rydia is too young to go,” Noct said.  “She shouldn’t see blood, and she’s too small to ride besides.”

“Noct, she’s been climbing the walls again,” Cloud said softly.  “I’m sure your mother would agree that this is the lesser of two evils.”

The trueborn Stark sighed in agreement, and Prompto clapped them both on the back.  “Nothing like a good hard chocobo ride to keep a child from making poor decisions, right?”

Cloud snorted and waved them goodbye, and Noct didn’t say anything as they dressed.  _I guess Cloud is right…we probably should be more discreet.  Draw the curtains, lock the door.  Back home, we could be arrested for sleeping together…at least the old gods don’t seem to care._

Prompto took full appreciation of the way the sound of his boots reverberated off Insomnia’s thick walls as they walked to the courtyard.  _I was so in awe when I first came here…Insomnia, the safest fortress in the North.  Contradictory name, though.  Probably not a more comfortable place to sleep unless you go south._

They were the last to arrive, but Lord Regis Stark still smiled when his son came into view.  “Good morning, boys,” he said, as Cloud brought their chocobos out from the stables.

He looked to the side to see little Rydia in Cloud’s saddle, looking both very excited and very petrified.  _She’s unafraid of falling from the castle’s outer walls, but she’s scared of a chocobo?_

Prompto winked at Cloud when he handed them the reins, and the other man scowled.  Noct shot him a look, and Prompto shrugged.  _It’s too easy to irritate him—of course I’m going to do it all the time._

Tifa laughed from her saddle, giving him a wink of her own when he met her eyes.  “Let’s go, Father,” she said, straightening her cloak behind her.  “The boys will take longer than the next winter if you let them.”

Noctis mounted his chocobo in one smooth motion, and Prompto struggled to match his speed, having learned to ride on the smaller blue breed his family rode in the Iron Islands.  Cloud mounted his own chocobo, settling behind his youngest sister and giving her plenty of room to lean against him.

They set out across the plains that flanked the great river Lethe, towards the forest where they kept the snares.  Prompto had taken for granted the availability of food when he still lived with his family, and he’d learned shortly upon arriving at Insomnia that it was extremely important to collect as much food as possible before winter came, for the Starks themselves just as much as the smallfolk.  And a long winter it would be—Prompto had been a ward of Lord Regis for ten years now, since before Rydia was born, and it was the early days of spring when he arrived.

Noctis rode quickly to keep up with his lord father, but Prompto hung behind to get a chance to talk with Cloud, who was riding slow for Rydia’s sake.

“Prompto,” Cloud greeted as he hung back on his left.

“Look, I’m sorry about this morning,” he said, not willing to say anything more specific with Rydia there.

“It wasn’t my place to be there anyway,” Cloud said, not looking at him.  “What’s yours is yours.”  _We’ve grown too far apart._

The two of them and Noct had been a lot closer when they were younger, causing enough mischief on a daily basis to make Lord Regis’s hair turn grey before its time.  Prompto had always been able to make friends easily—it was a gift he shared with his lord father, from the gossip he’d heard over the years.  _I almost find it hard to believe._

A great many things happened to drive them apart.  Lady Gillian wished to see her husband’s bastard treated as such, and so they saw less and less of Cloud as they grew older.  Prompto had a bit of a crisis as he matured when he realized he was attracted to men the same way he was attracted to women.  Cloud had been the first to know about his feelings for Noctis, and he’d been supportive—and he’d never said anything to give it away, but Prompto knew something about the situation bothered him.  Rinoa had taken after her mother, being civil to Cloud but ultimately treating him as an outsider, and he withdrew more into his shell as the years went by.

Noct slowed down to flank Cloud’s other side, and the three of them rode together in a rare moment of silent camaraderie.  _Now a man of twenty, and his two closest friends are his youngest sisters.  But Tifa is more like him than she’d probably like to admit, and Rydia is lucky to have him looking out for her._

Cloud stopped his chocobo as Rydia pointed towards the riverbank.  “What’s that?” she asked, and he looked closer.  _Some dead animal, it looks like.  It’s huge, though…_

“Let’s go,” Prompto said, urging his chocobo into a trot and veering off the path.

“Wait!” Noct shouted behind him.  “What is that?”

“I’m not sure!” he replied.  “But I want to find out!”

Cloud left them both in the dust as his chocobo galloped past them, encouraged by Rydia’s cheers.  “Beat you!” she called out as the two of them approached the fallen animal.  Cloud dismounted a safe distance away, leaving Rydia behind to check out…whatever it was.

Noctis dismounted his own chocobo to meet his half-brother, and Prompto gasped as he joined them.  “That’s the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen,” he said.  The poor creature had obviously been dead for a while—the smell of rotting flesh cut through the late summer snow, and its fur was patchy in places where maggots had gotten through to the flesh.  _Good thing we left Rydia behind, then._

“That’s no ordinary wolf,” Cloud said in awe.  “It’s a—”

“Direwolf,” Noct finished.  “No mistaking it.”

The footfalls of two more chocobos came up behind them, and Lord Regis dismounted, with Tifa following not far behind.

“What have you found here, boys?” he said before his eyes fell on the beast.  “Oh, now that is something.”

“Is it safe for Rydia to see?” Tifa asked.

Lord Regis shrugged.  “If she wants to see, I won’t stop her.”

“I want to see!” the younger Stark girl shouted from her chocobo.  “I want to see the wolf!”

“It’s a dead direwolf, Rydia!” Noct called back.

She struggled to get down, and Prompto left the group to help her out.  “You won’t go fainting on us now, will you?” he asked as he lifted her from the saddle.

“I might be just a little girl, Prompto Greyjoy, but I _don’t faint_ ,” she said determinedly, breaking free to run towards the group.

He laughed as he followed her.  Despite the struggles they did have, the Starks were a good family.  Better than most, noble or otherwise.  _Faris had to fight hard to enjoy the same rights as the men of the family…Tifa and Rydia are pretty much free to be themselves.  And Regis is incredibly kind of all his children…so unlike Father._

Tifa crouched down and gasped.  “There are pups,” she said, and Cloud was quick to join her, pulling one out from under the dead direwolf.

“They’ll join the mother soon enough,” Lord Regis said, furrowing his brow.  “These are monsters, not puppies.”

Noct cleared his throat. “Some of the dogs back home have new litters.  It’s possible to raise them on their milk, is it not?”

“Let us try, Father,” Tifa added, lifting one of the pups in her arms.  “I’ll feed them all myself if I have to.”  _I bet she would, too._

Regis sighed and turned away.  “I do not think it wise,” he said.  “It has been centuries since direwolves have been spotted south of the Wall—these could be exceptionally dangerous.”

“Lord Stark,” Cloud said, and the formality of his address caught everyone’s attention.  “There are five pups, as many as you have trueborn children.  The sigil of your house is the direwolf—your children were meant to have them, I’m sure of it.”

Prompto could tell Regis was conceding, and he admired how much Cloud had grown since the time they could call themselves close friends.  The Cloud Strife of yesteryear would not have excluded himself from any count of Regis’s family, even with his bastard’s name, given to anyone in the North with no family name of their own.  But he’d grown into his position, and now it almost seemed as though he were growing out of it.

“Alright,” the lord said after a moment, looking upon his children with a stern expression.  “The four of you will do all of the caring for your pups—and Bartz’s too.  He’s far too young for such a task.”

“Yes, Father,” Noct, Rydia, and Tifa said in unison.

Lord Regis mounted his chocobo and turned back towards the path.  “The men are still checking the traps, and I mean to join them.  Noctis, lead everyone back home.”

“I will,” he said as his father left, and Tifa began pulling the other pups out and handing them to the others.

“Cloud, you don’t want one, too?” Rydia asked as Tifa handed her a pup, fur so light it was almost white.

“I’m not a Stark,” he said with the solemnity his father so often wore.  “I will carry one back to Winterfell for one of the others, but nothing more.”

Prompto wanted to argue, but it wasn’t his place.  _Cloud has far more of the North in him than Rinoa or Bartz.  He deserves one, too._

They rode back in silence, save for the mewling of the five hungry pups.  Prompto felt unusually pensive, and he desperately wanted to crack a joke to lift the mood, but he knew it wasn’t the time.

Noct stopped after a few minutes, looking around.  “Cloud, do you hear that?”

He nodded and dismounted, looking for the source of the sound.  _I don’t hear anything besides hungry wolf pups._

Cloud emerged from behind a nearby bush a moment later with what looked like another grey pup in his arms, smaller than all the rest but still unmistakably a direwolf.  “Would you look at that,” Prompto said, putting a hand to his heart. “The runt of the litter…”

“You’re taking that one,” Tifa said to Cloud, her tone brooking no argument.  “You may not be a Stark by name, but you’re one by blood.”

Noct and Rydia voiced their agreement, and Prompto offered to carry the pup back to Insomnia, since Cloud’s chocobo was already carrying two people and two pups.

“Thank you,” he said, and Prompto knew he meant it.  _I wonder what they’ll name them._

 

\--------------------------------- 

 

Gillian entered the godswood, looking for her husband.  He often ventured out here when he was troubled, as she knew he was as once she saw the children had come home with…with _direwolves_.

_I don’t know what convinced him to allow them to keep them, but it must have been something important._ She didn’t ordinarily follow him out, not taking well to the dark and brooding nature of the Stark godswood, but her Tully upbringing had taught her one thing: there was nothing more important than taking care the people she held dear, and there was something important Regis needed to know.

“Gillian, is that you?” he asked from somewhere beyond the next group of trees.

“Yes, it’s me,” she answered softly.

Regis stepped out to face her, solemnity covering his face like a mask.  “You’ve seen the children,” he said, but it wasn’t worded like a question.

“Direwolves, really?” Gillian asked, raising her eyebrows.  “ _And_ you let Rydia go riding.”

“That was Cloud’s doing,” he protested.  “He said something about her climbing the walls again.”

Gillian sighed.  _Your bastard son has no place raising my children for me, but…he was right, this time._ “She needs to engage in more…appropriate pursuits.  Tifa as well.”

“Gil, the North is a different place than your Banora.  The girls will need to grow up and marry one day, yes, but it need not be to some southron lord who will treat them like porcelain on a shelf.  They can ride, and play, and even fight if they so choose.”

They’d had this argument many times before, and it was a losing battle for Gillian.  It was true that women could engage in more masculine pursuits here, but if either of her younger girls married into a southron family…the shock of moving north and having more freedom had been difficult for Gillian.  She couldn’t imagine it the other way around.  _At least Rinoa would be fine._

Regis still looked troubled, and he sat down on the nearest rock, putting his head in his hands.  “Direwolves below the wall…what does it mean?”

“It means that winter is coming,” Gillian said without hesitation.  _Those are the house words, are they not?  It can’t be that strange for northern monsters to be found in the North._

“There have been a hundred winters prior to this one without direwolf sightings this far south,” Regis said.  “There could be more dangerous monsters afoot, farther north.”

Gillian thought about what this might mean for a moment and shuddered.  “Beyond the Wall,” she said.  “You mean the Heartless.”

Regis gave her a reassuring smile.  “No, not them,” he said.  “The Heartless have been gone for thousands of years…they’re as dead as the l’Cie, nothing more than children’s tales.  But if behemoths started to show up near the towns…we’d have a war on our hands to keep the realm safe.”

They sat in silence for a while.  As much as a possibility of dangers beyond the Wall troubled her, there were more urgent matters at hand.

She sighed and took his hand in hers.  “I hate to trouble you, but something horrible has happened.”

Her husband braced himself for the news, and she gave him the dignity of taking it directly.  “Ricard Highwind dead.”

“Ricard, really?” Regis asked, the hoarseness in his voice betraying his grief.  Gillian knew he had been one of her husband’s closest friends during the last winter’s war, but they hadn’t had the chance to get to know each other very well.  Ricard was—or had been, rather—the Hand of the King since the Targaryens had fallen, and with him in the South and them in the North there just wasn’t the time.  But she knew he was very important to her husband.

“How is his family doing?” Regis asked.

“They’ll be fine.  He has so many nieces and nephews and cousins…they can support each other now,” she answered.  “But the letter I got telling the news—it bore the king’s seal.”

“He’s coming, isn’t he?”

Gillian nodded.  “Him, the queen, their children, and some of the Kingsglaive too, if I’m not mistaken.”

Her husband stood up and rubbed his temple.  “We can’t afford to treat them for very long,” he said.  “This is going to be—”

“Hard, I know,” Gillian said, pulling him in for a hug.  “But we’ll make it through.  We always have before.”

**Author's Note:**

> So...yep, I can't believe I'm actually writing this. But here I am, and here you are. It's happening. However, this fic is still a fetus and is going to need quite a lot of time to incubate before I add more, because the last thing I want is to write myself into a plot hole or have really weird characterization. (And if GRRM can take half a decade between books, you guys can give me some time to sort out the plot.)
> 
> Obviously a lot of it will parallel what happens in ASOIAF, but large chunks are going to be pretty different (read: Bran & Rickon, Viserys, Lannisters, the Dothraki, House Arryn, general gayness), and the plot is overall going to be a lot more like, well, Final Fantasy than Game of Thrones in terms of thematic elements / specific plot devices / amount and type of deaths. And there might be some deaths that become undone (or turn out to be Not Dead After All), because that seems to happen a lot in this franchise.
> 
> Since I still have so much planning to do, and since so many of the characters just straight-up were not in this chapter, feel free to ask me any questions / give any suggestions you might have! Here or on Tumblr. (I probably won't get hardcore working on this until after ASTG is finished, because 1) it's almost at the halfway point and 2) that gives me an excuse to largely ignore the XV characters until the release date gets closer). But when the next chapter DOES go up, it'll be largely focused on the Targaryens (and quite possibly the Lannisters).
> 
> P.S. Most of the houses will keep their ASOIAF names EXCEPT for House Arryn, because pretty much everyone in it is a Highwind. So they're House Highwind now. And there's definitely more than two of them chillin' in that castle with the Moon Doors and good dragoon training grounds.


End file.
